


The witch and the songbird

by loupee



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: THG fairytale fic challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:05:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loupee/pseuds/loupee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's not how the story goes! That was Rapunzel and she was a Princess, not a little boy." </p><p> "Who's telling this story, me or you?"</p><p>Katniss and Peeta create a bedtime story for their children with a few recognisable characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The witch and the songbird

_**The witch and the songbird** _

__

With a deflating sigh she got up from the table and the nice, hot cup of tea she had taken only one sip from, and made her way back to the room where two small children were supposed to be sleeping.

As she stood outside the closed door, she heard the tell-tale sound of the scuttering of feet and the creak of bed springs as two children quickly jumped back into their beds. She opened the door to find two overly-innocent faces looking up at her.

"You're supposed to be going to sleep, not playing."

"We weren't," the girl protested. The woman raised her eyebrows and let her daughter know that she wasn't fooled.

"We can't sleep, Mama," the girl's little brother added. "I can't go to sleep without a story."

His mother sighed. This was usually their father's job, but he was working late. His mother had insisted he help with the inventory and spring cleaning of the bakery after the shop closed.

"Alright, but just a quick one." She reached for a storybook from the shelf.

"Not that one, we had that one last night," the girl said.

"Which one do you want then?" her mother answered, trying to be patient, but it had been a long day, she was tired and her cup of tea was getting cold.

"Make one up for us like Daddy does."

Their mother gave an inward groan. She hated making up stories – she was terrible at it. Their father enjoyed making up tales for them and would spin yarns that had his children enthralled, hanging on his every word, waiting to see whether the hero or heroine would save the day again.

"Pleeease," her little boy pleaded. She may have given her son the grey colour of his eyes, but his ability to make a heart-melting puppy-dog look with them was inherited straight from his father.

Admitting defeat, she sank down onto his bed. Chewing the corner of her lip she looked about the room, scanning the titles of the books that lined the shelf, hoping for inspiration.

"Once upon a time, there was a Princess…"

"S'not fair," the little boy pouted, "stories are  _always_  about girls and princesses."

"Okay, once upon a time there was a little boy with hair the colour of gold," she said, reaching out to stroke her little boy's curls across the pillow. He grinned, pleased to think of himself as the star of the story.

"But he lived with a wicked witch who kept him locked up in a tower…"

"That's not how the story goes! That was Rapunzel and she was a Princess, not a little boy," her daughter corrected, sitting up in bed.

Her mother rolled her eyes. "Who's telling this story, me or you? Now lie back down and let me continue or I'll just go back to my cup of tea and leave you to go to sleep without a story."

Her daughter scowled, but lied down again.

In the hallway the woman heard the faint click of the door latch as her husband closed the front door, making an effort to be quiet, presuming that the children were asleep.

"Once upon a time there was a little boy who lived with a wicked witch, not in a tower, but in a house full of the most wonderful sweet treats and good things to eat…"

"Like Hansel and Gretel?"

"Yes, but he wasn't allowed to eat any of them."

"Not even one biscuit?"

"Not one biscuit, not even if it had fallen on the floor and got so spoilt that no one else would want to eat it."  With amusement she saw the horror on her children's faces as they considered the cruel fate of being consigned to a life without biscuits.

"The witch would not share the delicious treats with him. And neither would she let him go out into the street to play with the other children. And so he was very sad, which is a great pity because he had the most beautiful smile in the world. This boy with hair of gold and eyes as blue as the sky had a smile that was brighter than the sun and could warm the soul of anyone who saw it."

She saw her son give a little frown as he thought over the description of the boy, realizing that it could not be him. His own eyes were grey. But as she'd described the character she had pictured another boy in her mind, one she had known a long time ago when she had been a child.

"Is there going to be a girl in this story?" her daughter suddenly asked.

"Yes, I was just getting to that."

"One day, a little girl saw the boy in his window watching the other children play and she asked him to come out and play with her…"

"What did she look like?" the little girl asked with a hopeful smile.

"She had long, dark hair that she wore in a neat little plait down her back," her mother answered as her daughter smirked, content with the description that matched her own. "And she was far too clever for her own good," she added, to which her daughter gave a little sulky frown.

"So the little girl asked the boy to play, but he shook his head and said that the wicked witch wouldn't let him come out. She made him work all day making the wondrous treats that could be seen in her house. 'After you've finished that then', the little girl suggested. But he shook his head no and explained that after that he would have to clean up, wash all the pans and scrub all the floors. 'Tomorrow?' the little girl asked, but he shook his head sadly again. Tomorrow he would have to do it all over again.

"Just then the wicked witch caught him talking to the little girl and she pulled him back from the open window, screeching at him. The witch pointed her finger at the little girl and told her never to come back and try to talk him again. She cast an evil spell so that if the little girl ever tried to talk to the boy again a curse of sadness would fall over her and she would never be able to feel happy again."

"So what did she do then, Mama?" the little girl asked.

"Erm…" The mother chewed her lip again, her mind at a blank. She seemed to have talked herself into a corner and wasn't quite sure how to steer the story back to a happy ending.

"The little girl went home," the girl's father said, appearing in the doorway. He gave his wife a look that conveyed how surprised he was to find her making up stories for the children. He came and sat down on his daughter's bed and she sat up to receive a kiss before he laid her down again, smoothing her hair and tucking the bedcovers back about her.

"The little girl went back to her home in the woods."

"She lived in the woods, like us?"

"Yes," her father replied. "She lived with the animals there. You see, it was her job to teach the birds their songs. They would gather about her as she sang to them, and the forest would fall silent as all within it were bewitched by her voice as it was the most beautiful sound you could ever wish to hear."

"The girl thought about the witch all night long and the little boy with the sad face. She was scared of the witch and her threat, for she couldn't imagine being sad forever. But she also knew that if she never spoke to the boy again she would never be happy either," the mother contributed to the story, drawing back her children's attention, but she wasn't looking at them. She was gazing into the eyes of the boy, which were the colour of the summer sky.

"So what did she do?" her son asked.

"She went back to the shop full of tasty sweets and cream cakes," his father continued, "and she stood outside his window again. The witch saw her and she smirked with delight, knowing what would happen if the girl tried to speak to him. The boy saw the girl and he begged her to go away. He didn't want her to be hurt. And when he saw the girl's mouth open as if to speak he screamed for her to stop before it was too late. But she didn't stop…"

His daughter gave a gasp before biting at her lip just as her mother did when she was worried or thinking hard.

"But she didn't talk, she began to sing. The witch hadn't said the girl could not sing to him. It was the most incredible sound he had ever heard. It was more than just a song – it carried through the open window and washed over him, warming him and lifting him, filling him full of hope that his life didn't have to be empty and ugly forever. The birds came to join the girl singing the song that she had taught them the night before, creating a heavenly chorus. All the people of the village stopped what they were doing and turned to watch, but the boy didn't notice. All he could see was her, she filled him. And he began to smile, just a little at first, his muscles so unfamiliar with the movement that was required. Then his lips turned up a fraction more at the corners, and bit by bit his smile grew. Until at last, it had grown into a laugh and he couldn't stop."

"The witch was furious that the girl had tricked her because she knew that the little boy's smile was more powerful than the sun. That was why she had been sure to keep him unhappy," the woman said, taking over the story telling again. "With his smile, hope radiated from him and wiped out all the darkness that surrounded them, including the witch. It stripped her of her power, taking away all her magic and removing the curse that she had placed on the little girl. She no longer had any hold over the little boy or girl."

"What happened to them then?" the little girl asked.

"Eventually they went to live in a little cottage in the woods," her father answered. "Where they lived with a little boy and little girl all of their own."

"And did they live happily ever after?"

Her father stroked her hair lovingly again, before looking up at his wife. "I like to think they did, but I guess we'll have to wait and see. That's another story."

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story for the THG Fairytale Fic Challenge, but I see it fitting into the AU world of my Peeta and the Wolf shorts - just some years after the first three shorts. And written one night when my own little monsters - I mean darlings were resisting sleep. 
> 
> Thank you to Katnissinme for betaing.


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